


it's just another word i never learned to pronounce

by devil divine (jaegerjagues)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Modern Setting, Hux POV, M/M, Referenced Drug Use, Vignettes, bathroom make outs, mention of rey/jess pava, robot babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegerjagues/pseuds/devil%20divine
Summary: Freshman year of high school through senior year of college, and it takes every ounce of will power in Hux's body to not kill Ben Solo. Or kiss him. He's not really sure what he's feeling.





	

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, this is a pre-bloodlines Ben Solo mashed with kylo ren in a modern AU. which probably explains a bit. 
> 
> this also hasn't been looked over properly, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone!

_freshman year_

There's a car seat with a fake baby in it dropped unceremoniously onto his desk, diaper bag dropped on top of the baby a half second after that.

Hux reacts immediately, pulling the diaper bag off of the creepiest robotic baby he has ever seen, all the while yelling, “You can't just _suffocate_ _Reginald_ _, Ben_!

Ben looks at him, unrepentant, dark circles under his eyes that Hux knows aren't just remnants of yesterday's eyeliner. “It's a fake baby. As in, _not real_. Also, Reginald?” He slumps into the desk next to Hux. “Could you have _picked_ a more snobby name?”

Hux takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It's only the second month of his Freshman year, and he can't afford to have anything less than an A in his transcripts.

He doesn't say anything to Ben.

.

The car seat is placed on Ben's desk, diaper bag set onto the desktop beside it.

Ben isn't there, of course; he won't be there until the second before the tardy bell rings.

(He feels like it should bother him that he already knows Ben Solo's schedule so well; they are, however, rearing a fake baby together. He can make allowances.)

Hux takes his own seat, and waits.

Ben sits warily, eyes on the car seat. “Uhm.”

Hux glares at the whiteboard in the front of the classroom, wishing he had gotten more than three hours of sleep the night before.

“Why is Reginald's head in his lap?”

“It fell off.” _With force._

_._

They have to repeat the assignment, once Reginald get's his head reattached.

Hux manages not to kill the baby, this time.

 

* * *

 

_sophomore year_

Miss Sloane grins at them, more like a shark than a teacher. “Since the two of you have already had a child--” Because of _course_ the story of Reginald the Headless Robot Baby had rooted itself into history with the faculty; it was a cross Hux was going to have to bear until he graduated, a shared one with Ben Solo, forever tying them together. “--you and Solo will be partners.”

Sophomore Biology is terrible.

It's a required class, full of mostly useless things Hux knows he will probably never need. It's all about cells and genetics and the circle of life. It's almost like Sex Ed Part Two.

Or as Ben calls it, Sex Ed: The Sexoning.

Now, however, they're making babies.

 _Babies_.

As if Child Development, although unrequired, hadn't been enough.

.

Sometimes, Hux wishes lazer beams shot out of his eyes. At least then, all of this glaring at the piece of paper before him would be worth it.

As it is, he's just wasting valuable class time brooding over an assignment he has to do.

Which is making a baby with Ben Solo.

“According to these instructions, and the textbook, and genetics, it's not going to have ginger hair.” Ben is clearly disappointed by this.

“Good,” Hux says, thoroughly disinterested in the entire project. Ben's face is less than two inches from the page on the desk; he knows his friend has glasses, but wearing them “ruins his image.” “It's a trait that needs to die out.”

“But I want our kids to be ginger. And I can't cheat and _make_ them ginger, because that brings your grade down.”

It's only about then that Hux realizes that the awkward flutter of his heart when he's around Ben isn't the beginning of a coronary.

It's a crush.

 

* * *

 

_junior year_

Take the Baking Class, they said.

It'll be fun, they said.

It'll be _easy_ , they said.

Whoever 'they' were did not account for Ben Solo.

Nor did they account for the oven that was currently on fire, the other twenty six students and the teacher that were panicking, the fire alarm that was going off, and the appalling lack of a fire extinguisher in the vicinity.

Really, someone was going to get fired if they didn't all die first.

Hux picks up the box of baking soda that was still on the counter and calmly dumps it into the oven. It smothers most of the fire, leaving only a bit burning. “I need more baking soda,” he declares to the stunned class.

.

Hux is the last one out of the classroom, once the fire is safely put out. Of course, all the baking soda is going to need restocked and he's pretty sure he and Ben and the rest of their group failed for the day. He can hear the sirens approaching, breakneck,

Ben is standing with the rest of the class, arm held out in front of him awkwardly. His jaw is set, and Hux can more than see that he's in pain.

“Kitchen safety, week two, Ben,” is all Hux can manage to say. Ben's arm is a wreck; it's red and it's white and enflamed and Hux can already see blisters are forming.

For once, he's not worried about his grade what he faces if he doesn't graduate valedictorian.

 

* * *

 

_senior year_

“WHY ARE YOU SPENDING ALL OF OUR MONEY ON MEDICINAL MARIJUANA?”

It's said a little too loudly, but Hux is about ready to pull all of his hair out of his head over their fake bills anyway.

Lowering his voice, he continues, “We can't even afford to fix our car, let alone feed and house our family of five.”

Ben nods along until he doesn't. “Wait, five?”

“The Envelope of Outcomes gifted us with twins five minutes ago. _Twins_ , Ben! We couldn't afford to eat before, what the fuck are we going to do with _twins?_ ”

“Separate them at birth and keep them on opposite continents until they're old enough to be sexually curious, accidentally meet each other, and attempt a relationship?”

It's oddly specific. Hux just stares at him, deadpan. He is Not In The Mood For Ben's Shit.

“Right. Wait. How did _we_ get twins? Like, neither of us has the right equipment to, um. Gestate a fetus?”

Their teacher, Mr. Ekwesh, is within earshot. “This is entirely hypothetical, boys.”

“Yes, but we're _gay,”_ Ben responds immediately, leaning back in his chair. “And it's not like we can _accidentally_ have twins. And it's not like the government, despite insisting that Church and State are separated, actually likes allowing members of the LGBTQ community to adopt. So someone needs to explain how the fu--” Hux elbows him quickly in the ribs “-- _fudge_ we got these babies other than the Envelope of Outcomes or I will fully accept any consequences handed to us after I starve them to death.”

Hux thinks that by now, the faculty should have known better than to let Ben Solo be partners with him for anything.

They've attracted the attention of the entire class. Hux is fighting very hard not to place his head in his hands.

It's Phasma and Mitaka who rescue them from across the room.

“They were ours,” Phasma says. “We gave birth to them, and left them on your doorstep. Because you seem like two really great men, and are already doing such a great job of raising your _other_ child and--”

“And we're spending most of our money on illegal drugs,” Mitaka says.

Ben slams a hand on their shared desk before pointing in Phasma and Mitaka's direction. “ _That_ 's acceptable. Hux, move some of our marijuana money into the food bill.”

Mr. Ekwesh puts his long face in his hands and heaves a suffering sigh.

Hux wants to do the same, but he has a reputation to uphold—and he's been dealing with Ben Solo for far longer

“We are _not_ spending so much money on marijuana when we're actually married,” Hux says a few minutes later, once the class has settled again.

Ben just shrugs his shoulders. “That's what you say _now_.”

.

It's not until two a.m. that Hux wakes up from a dead sleep, eyes snapping open as he jacknives in his bed, that he realizes he said _we_ instead of _you_.

It's two fifteen when he realizes that Ben had rolled with it.

 

* * *

 

_freshman year pt. ii_

Hux tends to spend his free time at Ben's family home, considering his college roommate is a homophobic dick and he feels like he can't concentrate unless Ben's there to study with him.

It helps that Ben's house is only forty minutes away from the college campus.

Not that Hux is studying, right now. He idly playing with his phone, eyes looking to the television every other second as he watches Ben play whatever video game he's into at the time.

Ben doesn't notice when his cousin comes into the room.

Rey gently sets a car seat down on the coffee table, turned so it can face the men on the couch. “I need you to watch the baby for a moment.”

Ben grunts; Rey takes it as confirmation and leaves the room.

Hux looks at the car seat.

It's baby Reginald. There's no doubt about _that_. Same bucked teeth, same staring, unblinking eyes. Same horrible, carrot colored hair.

Hux just watches as Ben stands up the second Rey is gone, using one of his massive paws to pick the animatronic demon spawn up by the head, nonchalantly, exiting the living room.

It's a few seconds later that Ben reappears outside of the front window, striding purposely toward the fully extended basketball hoop. Without breaking his stride, he jumps onto the pole and shimmies up it, one armed, until he's at the backboard.

Ben stretches the arm containing the baby out, setting it primly on the top of the backboard. His shirt rides up just enough for Hux to see pale skin; his mouth goes mysteriously dry.

He goes back to looking at his phone the second Ben jumps down from the top of the basketball hoop to come back inside, refusing to look back up as his best friend flops back onto the couch next to him, scooping up the controller.

.

 

“Where's the baby?”

“Little shit must've gotten up and walked away,” Ben answers, studiously staring at the television screen.

Rey screws her face up, like she's going to fight him—physically or verbally, Hux isn't sure. It's always gone either way with them.

Instead, she leaves the room.

.

 

Thirty minutes, and her fists are banging on the front window, face screwed up in anger as she screams and points at the basketball hoop behind her, and the baby she is too short to get.

Hux and Ben both take this as a sign that they need to leave immediately.

.

 

“You know I'd never actually do that to a baby, right?”

Hux fires back with a, “You remember I beheaded Reginald freshman year, right?”

“We're going to be horrible parents.”

 

* * *

 

_sophomore year pt ii_

The first time it happens, Hux stumbles into his dorm room at two am, limbs heavy and mind fuzzy from too little sleep and too much alcohol.

He doesn't bother with the light, fingers struggling with the buttons of his polo. He kicks the door shut behind him, nearly falling on his ass from the sudden imbalance. It might have been a second, it might have been an hour, but Hux's fingers aren't working well on the buttons

With all the noise he's making, he's thankful again that he manged to finagle his way into getting a single dorm.

He moves to take his pants off, manages to get them off of one leg before tripping and falling into his bed, on top of the blanket and sheets.

There's a mass there, pliant and warm and somewhere in the sheets.

He snuggles up against it, drunkenly vowing to figure out just what _it_ is in the morning.

When he wakes up, his mouth feels like something his died in it and his whole body _aches,_ but not nearly as bad as his head does.

He's barely managed to get his eyes open, a painful experience if there ever was one, when there's a bottle of ibuprofen and a water bottle shoved into his face.

“Drink up,” Ben says. Hux's sheets smell faintly of weed and motor oil, the combination more familiar to him than his handwriting.

“Wher'd you c'me fr'm,” he slurs, pawing for the offered relief. His hand misses them completely; Ben drops them at the same time, landing with a muted thump on the mattress and knocking into his forehead.

“According to you two hours ago, hell.”

Hux manages to prop himself up on an elbow, bleary glaring at Ben.

They stare each other down for a heartbeat before Ben says, “You ate twelve pancakes and drank three cups of coke at the diner you dragged my ass to this morning before we came back here and you passed out.”

Hux, clearly, has no recollection of any of those events.

Glancing at the clock, he finds that it's only eight in the morning.

But his hungover self is in no state to question anything at the moment, so he scoots to the side enough for Ben to take a seat.

.

He realizes, long after Ben has left, that the lump in his bed must have been _Ben_.

He just _slept with Ben_.

“Fuck me with a chainsaw.”

.

The second time it happens, Hux is completely in his right mind.

Ben, on the other hand, is going to jump out of his skin.

His eyes are dark and angry, a storm in full swing, and there's a set to his jaw that Hux can only describe as Bad News. It's his knuckles that tell him the most though; scraped raw, slowly oozing blood, dried rust congealing around the open wounds and nearly to the tips of his fingers.

Hux hovers in the doorway for a moment, studying his best friend, his closest friend, the god damned loved of his life.

And then he enters the room, putting his bag down on the dinky surface he calls a desk, diving under his bed and coming up with a cheap fifth of vodka, seal still intact. He has no hopes for the bottle having a drop in it come morning.

Ben takes the bottle from him abruptly, bloody hands breaking the seal before he takes a greedy swig. Hux notes that he's taken off his boots already, forgotten by the door before he took up his post on Hux's sorry excuse for a twin mattress.

“Do I need to worry about any warrants out for your arrest?”

A raised eyebrow at the scowl he receives; it's more than enough to tell him that the only thing that met Ben's fists was probably a wall and not someone that could be dying in an alley.

.

Hux manages to study for nearly an hour before he looks over at Ben again. He's been quiet, drinking straight from the bottle without any kind of mixer and not complaining.

His head is tilted back, exposing the long column of his pale throat, black hair a tangle around his shoulders. From what Hux can see, his knuckles are no longer bleeding.

The bottle's half empty.

.

Ben is sound asleep the next time he looks over, slumped back against the wall with a knee hugged to his chest, fingers loosely curled around the neck of the bottle.

Hux feels the beginnings of a smile tugging at his face, so he turns back to his work instead. He's nearly finished for the night, textbooks read and annotated to his own satisfaction. There's an essay to do, but it can wait.

His bed beckons, but he doesn’t have the heart to wake Ben. The only other option is to share the bed.

It doesn't matter. They've done it before.

.

He wakes up plastered to Ben's back, his chin digging into the other man's shoulder blade, black hair nearly in his mouth.

It takes a moment for Hux's eyes to adjust to the sight—Ben's face, just a little above his, eyes closed. His mouth is still down turned, like he recalls going to sleep angry and plans on waking up that way.

He breathes deep, relishing the moment while it lasts before he has to get up. Maybe he'll get breakfast, feed Ben and help him handle the hangover.

Or maybe he'll just leave.

.

The third time it happens, Hux is completely in his right mind.

He's tired, sure—finals can do that to a person, can break them and exhaust them and exhilarate them all at once. But he's confident he did fine, and he's not going to waste time worrying about it.

Ben is sitting on his bed again, phone in his hands. He just barely glances up at Hux comes through the doorway, exhausted and a little damp from the rain.

“I brought food,” is all he says, obvious, like Hux couldn't smell it from the hall.

.

It's late by the time they're done eating, and Ben's eyelids are practically drooping where he sits on Hux's bed, legs tucked up beneath him and shoulders tucked into the corner.

And Hux himself is so tired that he—in all of his post-finals glory—suggested Ben stay the night.

Which is how they find themselves trying to get situated in Hux's bed.

The thing about being two sober individuals and trying to fit into a twin sized bed is that it's awkward. It doesn't matter how long you've known each other, or how comfortable you are around each other. A twin is made to fit one and a third people. Not two fully grown men.

“Why are you so _large_ ,” Hux demands, attempting to scoot himself farther toward the middle. Ben is pushed all the way up against the wall, and Hux is nearly falling off of the bed.

“Who said _I_ was the problem?” Ben shoots back, wincing as Hux's elbow finds it's way into the base of his throat.

“You're bigger than I am, so you're clearly the one at fault!”

Ben huffs and tries to roll onto his other side, so he's facing the wall, hips knocking into Hux's and nearly sending the ginger off the bed.

“We never had this problem when one of us was _drunk_ ,” Ben says into the plaster and paint.

“Are you suggesting we get plastered? Because I still haven't replaced my stash from last time.”

“Oh, no, this is like playing Twister but with none of the fun.”

They lie there for a moment, Ben facing the wall and Hux precariously on the side of the bed, facing the room at large. There's almost a half foot of space between them, a chasm with a bridge half built.

“This is really uncomfortable,” Ben says. “I'm, like, inhaling the wall.”

“Then _roll over.”_

Ben does roll over--

Knocking Hux onto the floor.

“Are you quite comfortable yet?” Hux demands as he picks himself up off of the floor. Ben's lying on his said again, back a few inches away from the wall. He's under Hux's sheets, under his blankets, and Hux quietly berates the part of his mind that likes the sight.

He's very thankful they're both fully clothed.

“Good.” He practically dives into the bed, hoping that by doing this quickly there will be less argument on either side.

Hux ends up with his back pressed up to Ben's front, one of Ben's arms draped over his waist. He knows, at some point in the night, it's likely Ben with steal all of the covers and Hux will end up on the floor.

  
This, though. This will work for now.

Hux doesn't think about how any of this might make him feel—he'll save that for a later date, when he's alone and less exhausted and his years long crush and best friend isn't pressed up to the back of him like a lover.

Sleep, thankfully, comes quickly.

.

He wakes.

There's something hard pushed into his backside, and if Hux was hungover he would have been terrified.

Instead, he's actually just mildly surprised.

“You had better hope that's your leg, Benjamin,” he says, sounding much more awake than he feels.

“My mom says I shouldn't lie,” Ben slurs, right into his ear. He moves his hips back anyway, and the pressure on Hux's backside is gone.

It's not until after Ben has left and he's in the shower that Hux admits to himself that he didn't really want Ben to move away.

 

* * *

 

_junior year pt ii_

Moving in together had sounded like a good idea at the time.

( _2 am, drunk, half on top of each other in the backseat of Hux's car,_ _freezing.)_

That was, of course, before Hux had terrible flashbacks to their Senior and Junior years, of kitchen fires and poor choices concerning fake money.

But there's a fire extinguisher and baking soda in the kitchen, close to the oven in case of any accidents, and there's no kids to care for, so Hux thinks that this might actually turn out okay.

Until Ben Solo walks into their itty bitty two bedroom apartment carrying a bong nearly as tall as he is.

Hux sets his pen down, keeping his face carefully stoic.

“What is that.” Statement, not question.

Ben snorts. “It's a _water pipe_. Technically.”

“You mean legally.”

“Yeah, sure, that too.”

Hux just blinks, because this is his life now, somehow.

Ben rolls his eyes, setting the bong on the floor. “It fits in my part of the budget.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then why are you staring at me like _that_.”

.

He knows that Ben's anger management therapy is more like a treatment.

He also knows that Ben's “anger management therapy” is a medical marijuana card and a job that doesn't drug test.

A high Ben Solo is a happy Ben Solo. That should probably go on a t-shirt, but then Ben would probably wear it every day of the week and then some.

 

* * *

 

_senior year pt ii_

The wedding invitation that arrives in the mail feels more like a demand and a deadline than anything else.

It's soft white paper, stark black ink on the outside with his name and address Inside, the invitation itself is more of an off-white color, card-stock, gold filigree edges and letters asking him to rsvp for the nuptials of one Rey Antilles-Skywalker and one Jessica Pava.

There's a note shoved into the envelope, Rey's semi-familiar spider letters scrawled across a scrap of paper.

_Make sure Ben shows up on time SOBER!_

And, well. He can't exactly deny Rey her request. But he knows first hand how dangerous a sober Ben Solo is, and how much worse it gets when he's near his family.

.

Hux pulls Ben's tie out of his pocket, standing up on his toes in order to even reach his friend's neck. The fucking gigantor doesn't even make an effort to get on Hux's level as the ginger man pops the collar of the dress shirt and sets about tying the tie just right.

Hux's fingers are deft and nimble, even as he teeters on the balls of his feet. His balance has never been the best, but he's going to be damned if it fails him now.

He's nearly done with his masterpiece when one of Ben's hands settles on his waist. He stills for a moment, half a heartbeat at most, jaw clenched tight, before his hands resume their work.

“It's good to see some things never change,” Leia says from somewhere behind him. Ben's hand tightens on his waist, and Hux's breath catches in his throat.

“Mom,” Ben says, and Hux can feel it in his hands, the way Ben's throat moves as he talks, the way the hand at his waist is still tight.

He finishes the knot and adjusts Ben's tie before stepping back and breaking the contact immediately, facing Leia. “He'd have to learn how to tie his own tie,” he snarks, hands finding their way into the pockets of his slacks.

Leia smiles at him, knowing and bright.

.

Once the nuptials are over and the speeches are done and the toasts are made, Ben's hand snakes around Hux's own and hauls him out of his seat. The crowd parts as Ben leads, stature and reputation alike clearing the path for them.

There's a nagging part in Hux's mind, one he's trained himself to ignore most of the time, wondering just what other people are thinking as they watch Ben Solo dragging another man into the bathroom.

Ben takes his hand away as the door swings shut behind them, turning to face Hux full on. He can see that Ben is fraying at the edges, jaw locked just tight enough to notice, shoulder's stiff.

Hux pulls the baggie out of his jacket, offering it up without a word.

“I fuckin' love you.” With that, Ben disappears into a stall.

“And just how much champagne have you had?” Hux calls back dryly. Outside of the restroom, it sounds like the reception is in full swing.

The door to the stall Ben went into swings open, and Hux raises an eyebrow at him. He hadn't even heard the baggie being opened, and it wasn't like Ben was in there long enough to even get a decent high.

The smell of marijuana is also mysteriously absent.

“I haven't had any champagne,” Ben says, serious. But this is a different serious than what Hux is used to, even in Ben's sober moments. It lacks the burning anger underneath, the dark tilt to every word he says like a knife half out of it's sheath.

Hux looks at him impassively, trying to conclude just _why_ Ben had to tell him he had yet to imbibe face to face.

“I fuckin' love you,” Ben repeats, just as serious as he was before.

Hux folds his arms across his chest, leaning up against a sink. “Yes, Ben. You said that before.”

“No, _no._ I _love_ _you_.”

It sinks in a bit like the foundation of a house sinking into the ground—slowly at first, and then steadily faster until everything Hux thought he knew is lopsided in his head.

“Need I remind you that this is _Rey's wedding_. She will never forgive either of us if we get into a fight in the bathroom.

“Why would we fight?”

Hux realizes, belatedly, that Ben is still 100% sober. There's nothing in his system that effects his judgement, nothing in his system that Hux can use to his advantage. Nothing Hux can blame for what's happening other than Ben himself.

“Armitage,” Ben prods. And, oh. _Oh_. Hux hates that name, but likes the way Ben says it. “I'm serious. Like, dying in matching rocking chairs on a porch in Oklahoma in our eighties serious.”

Something about this should comfort Hux. It should make him elated. How long as he pined, after all?

Instead, it makes him furious.

“I don't know who you've been talking to, but this isn't something to joke about.” Hux is proud of himself when his voice doesn’t waver. The pride disappears when Ben steps into his space, making Hux look up to keep eye contact. “You can't just stand there and _tell me you're fucking serious about loving me, Ben.”_

There's too much going unsaid, but Ben already knows all of it. He knows every inch of Hux, all of his history; knows how to wield it like a knife to the gut, pointed but messy.

Hux hadn't come here for a fight; hadn't come here to defend himself, or any feelings he might have accidentally publicized.

“When's the last time I slept in my own bed?” It throws Hux for a bit, this new line of questioning, this different approach. “The, I don't know, last time I went out without you? The last time I didn't come home? The last time, maybe, you separated our checks?”

Hux thinks through these things quickly, answers springing forward in his head like daisies—nine months ago, just before a rather terrible anxiety attack, eight months ago, also eight months ago, six months ago—but he has excuses lined up for each and every one of them.

But he can't find the words to say them at the look on Ben's face, the hope, the _wanting_.

“You've been my best friend since you set that headless plastic baby on my desk freshman year. Which sounds fucking idiotic now that I say it out loud, but it's true. The time you threw baking soda all over the burning cookies? And then came outside to make sure I was okay and stayed with me until the paramedics decided I needed to go to the hospital? And you weren't pissed that I nearly ruined your perfect grade? That's when I knew that I, uh.”

Ben's run out of steam, though the tirade might be the longest thing Hux has ever heard him say that stays on point.

Hux had never truly entertained the notion that his years long pining would ever be reciprocated. Had never thought about what his life would be like without Ben; hadn't thought about what it might be like _with_ Ben in every sense of the word.

“That you knew _what_ , Ben?” Hux is proud of himself for keeping his voice as even as it is.

“That I could love you.” The floor feels like it's dropping out from under him, warping and sliding—but he knows it's just his knees. “Fuck, you know you've always been hyper focused on everything else? Your grades, what other people think of you, money, your job. And that's, y'know, whatever. I'm fucking happy just to, like, sleep in your bed and be around you and--”

“Benjamin,” Hux finally says, pulling the full first name card like Ben himself had earlier. Ben stops talking immediately, mouth snapping shut with an audible click. But he won't look Hux in the face, pointedly looking at a spot over Hux's shoulder, hands fiddling with the baggie of weed in his hands.

Hux takes a moment before he starts talking again, appreciating just how much doing _this_ has taken out of Ben. He's sober, for one thing, though he clearly wants to turn tail and flee into the bathroom stall, to get higher than a kite and ignore everything that's happen both in and out of the bathroom. And for all Ben knew, this could have blown up fantastically in his face.

There are far too many things he could say, in this situation. Too many things that he has thought about saying, in the darkest corners of his mind that held out hope.

“You talk too much,” he finally decides on, placing a hand on Ben's neck and tugging him down to his level.

The kiss is messy—Hux is clumsy in a way that is foreign, Ben still beneath him—their noses knocking together and Ben's chin sharp against his cheek.

And then it's like a switch is flipped in Ben's mind.

The other man takes control between one bated breath and the next, one hand gripping Hux's hipbone possessively, the other fisting itself in the back of Hux's jacket.

Ben pushes him back, lips still firmly locked with his, one of his legs coming to rest between Hux's own.

The wall is sturdy behind Hux's back, smooth and faceless and unassuming. It's an immovable object compared to the unstoppable force that is Ben. There's a joke in there, somewhere, about being stuck between a rock and a hard place, but his mind is too scrambled to properly sort it out.

Ben's mouth is hot and heavy against his own, tongues battling for dominance over the other. Ben's teeth keep catching against Hux's lower lip.

It's all Hux can do to keep one hand on Ben's neck and the other on his back as Ben begins to mouth at the column of his throat, hands deft and nimble as he works up the hem of Hux's shirt, fingers on bare skin like brands.

He's having a hard time breathing, but it's nothing like an anxiety attack he's suffered from before. It's euphoric, the burn in his chest and the burn of Ben's mouth so distracting that he can't think straight and--

“Ben!”

Hux jumps, hips grinding into Ben's as the other man breaks away from him, turning his head to glare at the interloper.

“This is the men's bathroom,” Ben snarls. Hux's stomach flutters, the tone of Ben's voice igniting the desire pooling in his belly even more.

“It's also my wedding! And while I'm glad the two of you finally got your shit together, I would rather you didn't have sex in the bathroom.”

“We weren't—” Ben chokes, grimaces, “ _fuck_. Just— _FUCK._ Go away, Rey!”

Rey laughs, and Hux hears the door swing itself shut again as Ben turns back to him, pupil's blown wide.

“I think,” Hux says against Ben's lips, “I like it when you're angry at other people.”

And then he pushes Ben away and heads toward the door, stopping for a moment to fix his hair in the mirror.

“Where are you going?” Ben's voice sounds strangled, confused. The hurt he's trying to hide on his face is transparent.

“Back out to the party; it's your cousin's wedding, Ben, and I'm not getting fucked in a bathroom.” The air is still heavy, and Hux is definitely still aroused, but he has _standards_. “And God forbid, your _parents_ are out there. They'll _know.”_

Ben's expression falls a little more before it becomes closed off, hand shooting into his pants for his baggie of weed.

“Is it so bad if they know?” Ben sounds angry, more so than he has towards Hux in a long time. Which is concerning, considering they were just all over each other.

Except--

Except Ben thinks this is a _rejection_.

And Hux knows that while he isn't the best at expressing himself, instigating and allowing Ben to practically dry hump him into the wall in a public restroom should have been a clear yes.

But of course, this is emotionally stunted Ben Solo.

“Of course it's not bad if they know, Ben! They've probably suspected for years. But we have a bed at home. And I'd rather we took our time, comfortably, and someplace _your dad can't waltz into_.” He lets it sink in for a moment before continuing, “This is also Rey's wedding, as she lovingly reminded us earlier. I don't think she'd appreciate it if we upstaged her.”

“Right,” Ben says, disappearing into a bathroom stall.

.

“Enjoy your quickie?” Han asks; Ben is roughly tomato colored, and Hux has somehow managed to keep the full body flush at a minimum, feeling the tips of his ears heat and nothing more.

There's a giddy feeling lodged in Hux's stomach that he's sure his face is mirroring no matter how hard he tries to keep a neutral mask.

But their hands are locked together, two puzzle pieces that don't fit anywhere else, and he'll be damned if anyone works them apart.

**Author's Note:**

> [this](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Hohass_Ekwesh) is "Mr Ekwesh", if you're concerned about that kind of thing. and miss sloane, of course, is rae sloane from the aftermath novels.
> 
> also, baking soda for kitchen fires is actually a thing--it works better than water, esp for grease fires, as it smothers the fire. 
> 
> come join me on [tumblr](http://bobodelrey.tumblr.com)


End file.
